Suffering Olympics and the Death of Empathy

We recognise that suffering is universal, and that there will always be someone whose suffering is worse than ours. We acknowledge this, yet somewhere deep within, many of us still cling to the unconscious belief that our own life, our struggles, and our experiences are the central plot of the world, while others exist merely as supporting characters.

This belief manifests subtly but powerfully. Every conversation becomes filtered through the lens of our own experience. We interrupt not to understand, but to relate, or worse, to compete. This form of self-centeredness makes it difficult to truly engage with the emotions, realities, and perspectives of others. I would even argue that this tendency actively hinders societal progress.

Looking around, I often wonder: Does this behavior stem from fear? Fear of being insignificant? Or is it an insecurity, a sense that if we’re not constantly asserting our own pain, we’ll fade into irrelevance?

But life is not a solo performance; it is an ensemble. The refusal to step outside oneself and acknowledge others’ narratives leaves relationships, and indeed, our social fabric, shallow and unfulfilling. When everyone insists on being the protagonist, no one remains to hold the stage together.

Empathy is the antidote. It is the capacity to momentarily step outside ourselves and fully enter another’s world. It allows us to stay present, to connect more deeply with those around us, and to collectively imagine and create a world that eases suffering for all.

The "suffering olympics" is a mindset where pain becomes performative, competitive. It’s like dragging out your cross to climb and nail yourself on it over and over. It hardly leaves room for one to leave Golgotha. You dwell there. And every so often, you want to prove to the next sufferer that your cross and nails are thicker.

But suffering is not a hierarchy where only the “worst” pain deserves acknowledgment.

One of life’s most humbling realisations is that no matter how much we endure, someone else is enduring more. This truth is not meant to minimise our own pain but to contextualize it. When we acknowledge that suffering is a shared human experience, we become less possessive of our own. We stop seeing ourselves as the only ones who have struggled, loved, or lost.

When individual empathy dies, collective inempathy takes root. The result is an increasingly self-absorbed society, where pain is validated only when it’s personal, and where apathy toward others’ suffering becomes normal, even fashionable. In such an environment, misunderstandings grow unchecked. Age hierarchies stifle communication. Social comparison silences vulnerability. And without a culture of empathy to anchor us, we become ripe for exploitation as our collective sense of justice weakens.

Corrupt leaders thrive in societies where citizens are too fragmented by self-interest to rally for one another. When we are obsessed with personal narratives of struggle, we become blind to structural injustice. We become easier to divide, manipulate, and pacify. Our pain becomes currency in a zero-sum game where no one truly wins, well, except for those in power.

Empathy isn’t weakness. I dare say it is resistance. It is radical. It is an act of rebellion in a world that rewards selfishness and punishes vulnerability. When we choose to truly listen, to affirm the pain of others, and to see their humanity as equally urgent as our own, we begin to repair the collective. Collective compassion soothes personal wounds and builds a system of care for others. Because in the end, compassion isn’t just a moral choice—it’s a survival one.